Breaking the Girl
by Busty Sinclaire
Summary: This never happened to Alexandra Eames. Now Complete. Really. I mean it this time.
1. Creep Up and Tell Me

She died on a Monday.

It was snowing. Bobby Goren held her in his arms and that was when Alexandra Eames knew she was ending. Her partner was cradling her as if she were a precious thing made of spun glass, and he would never do that unless there was something terribly, terribly wrong. Eames figured her dying would fall under that category.

Bobby pressed one had into the gaping hole in her chest, just below her heart, where the bullet had torn through her and it occurred to her that this was the most intimate touch they had ever shared. Her partner's large hand was cupped against her breast in a macabre parody of a lover's embrace and Eames would have laughed if she hadn't been so aware of her own blood filling her lungs.

Her chest hurt. Every breath was fire and she was cold. She was dying and she was so fucking cold that she would have screamed except she had lost that ability when she'd felt the bullet crack through her ribs, shattering them into splinters. Her lungs were filling fast. Too fast. Eames knew the distant sirens she heard would never make it in time.

"B-Bobby." She whispered. Her voice was thick.

Bobby looked down at her. His eyes were wide and he looked for the entire world like a lost little boy.

"If I'd known…this was what it took to…get your arms…around me I'd have… done it sooner, Goren."

"Darling, I should have done this a long time ago."

Eames chuckled and ended in a wet cough. Bobby's arm tightened spasmodically around her. She smiled at him through the tears that were beginning to gather in her eyes. Leave it to Bobby Goren to finally admit his love for her then go and make a mess of it.

"All this time…all this… and the best you could… come up with… was 'darling'?

Goren's chuckle came out a strangled sob. "Well, what can I say Eames? I didn't think you would take too kindly to sweetheart. Still, this wasn't how I pictured this going."

"So...how?"

Goren shrugged. "Usually there was candlelight and wine involved. Sometimes I thought about blurting it out over beer and pizza. I always called you darling, and even in my fantasies you laughed."

The ambulance was close now. Close enough for Eames to hope, but there were things that needed to be said just in case. Her hands tightened on his suit jacket. His pretty Armani suit was covered in her blood and Eames felt like crying all over again. She loved him in those damned suits.

"Bobby, it's…okay." She could feel the blood leaking out of the corner of her mouth, and rested her head against him, fighting for enough consciousness to say goodbye. "No regrets…do you hear me? This is…this is not on you."

Goren swallowed tightly and nodded, not trusting his voice.

She would have said more, but the ambulance had arrived and they took her from him and Eames was suddenly angry that she would have to die alone among strangers when she could have been dying on the street with her partner by her side.

There were voices around her speaking in loud, urgent tones, and Eames wanted to protest, to make them stop and let her out and die in peace, but then there was a needle in her arm and everything went black and her last living thought was of how fucking cold she felt.


	2. Get Tired and Fall

"Eames," he says, and something inside me breaks.

"Eames," and my name on his lips is a prayer, a plea. His voice is rough and low, heavy with longing. He cups my face and lifts my eyes to his, but I close them. I'm too afraid to look.

"Eames," he says, kissing my lips softly, as if one touch from him will shatter me completely. He doesn't know the damage has already been done. When he says my name I can hear the strain in his voice, the struggle not to lose control. Above all things, Bobby Goren never loses control, not even in times like this. There are rules, and he follows them absolutely. He always leaves before the sun comes up, almost as soon as we are done. He never calls me by my name. If at all possible, he won't speak an more then he has to. That's how he deals with this. He calls me Eames and I close my eyes and wish and wish and wish that just this once he would call me Alex.

Bobby Goren, with his little-boy charms and uneasy smiles and big hands he doesn't know what to do with half the time, has broken away at me piece by piece for the last five years and, God help me, I've let him do it. Those big hands of his are on my arms stroking softly up and down, and I am trapped by the look in his eyes. I can taste the whiskey on his tongue. He's had a few and though this is the most sober he's been on one of these little visits, I break a little more. Of all the times this has happened, of all the times I've gone to bed with my bedroom door open and the hall light on, wearing nice panties that I'm not sure he even notices, of all the times I've let him use me he has never come to me completely sober. I close my eyes in momentary respite against the intensity of Bobby's gaze. Tears prick behind my eyelids and I bite them back fiercely. He doesn't get to see me cry. Not like this. Not now.

"Eames, Eames, Eames." He whispers my name over and over, punctuating each with kisses to my mouth, my neck, my face.

He's had a rough day. He only ever does this when the days are especially bad. We catch a tough case, get nowhere, or his mother has an episode and he inevitably stops by my place on his way back home, usually with a bottle of good whiskey in tow. That whiskey bottle's becoming my friend too. There have been times when I've taken the drink he's offered just to be able to make it through without breaking down.

His kisses are more insistent and I cave, like I always do, and kiss him back hungrily. When it comes to this, when Bobby is this close to a breakdown, I always break first. I can't deny him this. I hate him for it, a little, but then I've always gone out of my way to make sure he has no idea about how I really feel about him.

Somewhere deep down I know that Bobby wouldn't be here if he knew I loved him. I also know that he wouldn't be here if he had any idea that I knew that he loved me. This can only go on if we maintain the façade of not caring, and neither one of us is willing to break the fragile peace.

So I let him undress me, and we stumble to my bedroom, knocking down picture frames and books from their shelves on out way. I'll have bruises in the morning, like I always do.

There are some things that will hurt much worse.

He kisses me dizzy and buries himself inside me with a hoarse groan. When I come I'm careful, so careful not to call his name. Instead I turn my head, bury my cries in the pillow and pray to god Bobby's too wrapped up in the moment to notice the few tears that leak out of the corner of my tightly shut eyes.

"Alex! Oh, God! Alex!" His voice is hoarse.

My eyes fly open as he collapses above me. We stay like that for a moment, too shocked at the turn of events to do more than lay together, our bodies flush against each other and sticky with sweat. After a while he rolls off of me, and I turn away from him, not wanting to see his post-coital ritual of getting redressed, straightening the shelves and picking my late husband's picture up from the ground where we unceremoniously knocked it over on our way to bed.

He doesn't move, and I go tense. I try to stop the thoughts that go through my head in rapid fire succession. _Is he going to try to apologize? I will fucking kill him if he tries to apologize. He had better not try to apologize. Why isn't he leaving? Oh god did I do something to scare him off?_

"Can I….I…Can I …stay?" His voice is quite, hesitant, but it makes me jump all the same.

"Please," he says, and I know he's afraid I will make him leave. "I know…I know I've got no… no right to… ask. But please… Alex, can I stay?"

I turn around. He sits on the edge of the bed. His back is too me. His head is ducked and his shoulders are hunched and wary.

"Yeah, Bobby." My voice cracks; I take a moment to steady my breathing. "Yeah. You can stay."

He exhales a breath I'm sure he wasn't aware he was holding, as if I'd granted him forgiveness for past sins, and who knows, maybe I have. We curl up around each other and Bobby sleeps soundly through the night. Judging by the circles under his eyes, it's the first good sleep he's gotten in a while.

I stay awake waiting for morning, and wondering just what the hell I'm going to do next.


	3. Sunshine is Days Away

It's Saturday evening and she's holed up in the tiny bathroom of their cramped apartment, the one they keep meaning to move out of but put off because this is where they first fucked and where he proposed and where they started their life together. And anyway, it's not like they're in a rush to move to a better place. He will be up for promotion in a few years, and they'll be able to get a better place on a Detective's salary, and she wants to wait till her stint in vice is over before they start on kids. They have all the time in the world, do Joe and Alex Flaherty.

It's Saturday evening and she's in her vice get-up, all high heels and sequined tube-top and brief, brief skirt. He wraps his arms around her and kisses her neck because he still can't believe at times that razor-sharp Alexandra Eames chose him and took his name, and despite the fact that they're both hard-ass cops, he loves his wife and she loves him and sometimes when he looks at her he feels eighteen god damn years old again.

But she's in a rush today, his Alex is, and she yells "God Damn it, Joe! If you don't get out of here and let me finish putting on my God damn makeup I swear to Christ I will cuff you to the God damn kitchen sink!"

He makes his exit and he can tell she's not mad by the way she throws a tube of cherry-red lipstick at his head.

Thirty minutes later and he's sitting on the couch, drinking a beer, and watching her walk by in her hot-pink skirt and sequined top, balancing perfectly on impossibly tall heels. He lets out a low whistle and she laughs out loud, putting an extra swing in her step as she goes.

"Knock them dead, babe." He calls, raising his beer to her in a toast.

"Don't wait up, big boy." She blows him a kiss and winks at him on her way out the door. He chuckles and turns on the TV.

Next thing he knows, he gets a phone call from her Captain and his heart stops beating and they send a squad car over to get him because he can't remember how to breathe, let alone how to drive a car. He gets to the hospital too late to say goodbye, and all that's left to do is identify the remains of his dead wife and claim the possessions. He stares at the body without blinking. Her chest is a mess and they haven't taken the tube out of her throat yet. His Alex is laying dead on cold steel and all he thinks about is how angry she would have been at having been caught dead in that outfit.

They bury her on a Wednesday. The sky is an impossible shade of blue and Joe Flaherty is thirty-four; too young to be a widower but burying his wife of three years nonetheless. The sun is merciless and Joe is sweating in his dress blues, but he shows no sign of weakness. If it had been him in the ground, if his Alex had been standing here and he was the one in that box, he was damn sure she would have stood tall and not shed a single tear. It would take more than the death of her husband to break tough-as-nails Alex Flaherty. So, Joe stands firm and does not shed a drop.

Later, when the mourners have dispersed and her family is gone, Joe Flaherty goes back to their tiny apartment, the one they were in no hurry to move from because they had all the time in the world, God damn it, and he wanders from room to room. He touches her things and hugs her pillow and he wonders idly when he is going to remember how to breathe again.


	4. Count the Ways

IV. Count the Ways

Alexandra Flaherty stood from her desk, heavy and round with her unborn child. Goren made a concentrated effort to keep his eyes on the file in front of him; to not trace her movements with his eyes.

"Hey, Bobby?" Alex' voice was studiously neutral. When he looked up at her, her features were carefully blank. Goren felt a sinking sense of despair settle in his stomach.

"Yeah?"

"What do you say we go grab some lunch? I wanna talk to you about something."

More cause for worry. Their relationship had been off since Alex had announced she and Joe were trying to get pregnant.

Goren kept his features as carefully neutral as hers. "Yeah, of course. Is there...Is there something wrong?"

Alex flashed him a smile, genuine and unstrained, and he felt the knot in his gut loosen.

"No, I just wanted to run something by you."

His eyebrows rose, twin curlicued question marks on his worried forehead. "Well, that can't be good."

Alex smiled. "Anyone ever tell you that you worry too much, Goren?"

He stood and started to gather his papers, sweeping them into his battered portfolio. "Matter of fact, Flaherty, there's this gal I work with who tells me all the time. I mostly ignore her. It's hard to take someone as small as she is seriously, you know."

Alex laughed, and Goren relaxed even more. It had been a while since they had shared banter like this.

She pressed a hand to her rounded belly and pointed a finger at him. "Do not make me laugh like that. I think my water almost broke."

The sheer panic that erupted over Bobby's features set her off on another round of laughter. They exited the office together and the sound of her amused laughter followed them all the way down.

-

* * *

- 

They had lunch at a local restaurant, one where every waitress seemed to be on a first named basis with Goren. After the third one had stopped by to 'say hello,' Alex raised an eyebrow at him.

"Been busy lately, Bobby?"

Bobby ducked his head, seemingly embarrassed by the amount of attention the decidedly younger women were bestowing upon him. Keeping his tone light, he shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Well, what can I say, Flaherty? My best gal is going and ditching me in a month or so. A guy has to have a look around for replacements, you know."

Alex smiled at him. "That's sweet, but if you keep referring to me as 'gal' I will deck you, and you know I'm good for it Bobby."

"Your husband would love that."

"Yeah, no shit. He'd have a video camera rolling and be selling beer and popcorn at the premier."

Goren flashed her a tight smile. It was no secret that Joe Flaherty held a certain amount of animosity towards him. Goren had tried to keep himself away from his partner's husband as much as he could. He did not want to make things difficult for her, but in their line of work it was sometimes difficult to maintain distance.

Alex cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Listen, Goren, I wanted to ask you something. And you don't have to say yes just 'cause I'm asking you. It's a big responsibility, so don't think you're obligated to accept or anything."

"Flaherty, you're making me nervous here."

"I wanted to ask you if you would consider being the Bump's godparent." The words came out in a rush.

Bobby blinked and watched Alex twist her napkin.

"It's not just holding the kid while the priest pours water over his head, though. It means ball games and recitals or whatever, and talking to it about whatever problems it can't talk to me and Joe about and being family, so feel free to turn it down if you think you can't handle all that."

He blinked again. "I'm sorry. Bump?"

"It's what Joe and I call the Baby." Alex's voice had taken a decidedly defensive tone.

Cocking his head to one side, he reiterated, "Bump?"

Alex threw her hands up in despair before crossing them over her belly. "Well, we haven't come up with a name yet. Joe wants to name the kid after his dad, and I love my father-in-law, but I don't really want to name my son Seamus. And anyway, we're not sure if it even is a boy. And we had to call it _something_."

"Yes, I know. But bump?"

"Hey, do you want the job or not? This kid's going to pop out and have a lot of aunties and uncles who are foaming at the mouth for the honor, so don't think you're my only option here, buster."

Goren blinked again.

"And stop blinking!" Alex snapped at him. "You look like a damn owl."

Bobby held his hands up and a show of surrender. "Okay, that one I'm chalking up to hormones. You only ever snap at me when you're cranky. And you're babbling"

"I am not."

They sat in silence, Alex with her arms crossed above her belly, Goren with his hands tapping distractedly on the tabletop.

"Why me?" He asked suddenly. "It's your first kid, and you've got all your brothers and sisters. So why me?"

"Because you'd look after my kid, Bobby. I know you, and you'd treat it as if it were your own."

One of Bobby's eyebrows rose. "And Joe's...okay…with this?"

Alex's mouth tightened to a thin line. Her husband was a conventional cop, and a somewhat jealous husband. He'd heard enough stories about Robert O. Goren to make him suspicious, and though there was no real basis for his feelings, it had caused some serious rough patches in their marriage.

"Joe…will come around. He may not like it, but he…understands…why I want you. You' take care of it. You'd love my kid."

His voice was low as he replied. "I already do, Flaherty. If only because it's yours."

That sat in silence, each absorbing the ramifications his confession, however slight, had caused.

Bobby sighed and rested his hands on the table. "I'll take the job, Flaherty. And I'll do right by your kid."

She reached across and slipped her hands over his clasping them tightly. "I never thought for a second you wouldn't."

Alex had not gone to confession in years. She hated the unnerving feeling of pouring her deepest secrets, the worst side of herself out to anyone.

She had once confessed to the priest at her parent's church exactly what she had let Danny Sullivan do the summer before junior year when her parents went away to Atlantic City. And deep down, she knew, she _knew_ that despite God's unconditional love and forgiveness, Father Douglas had never looked at her the same way again. She had switched churches and gone twenty miles out of her way once a month to have her confession heard by a priest she did not know and who did not know her at a church across town for exactly that reason.

The corner booth she and bobby shared had the feel of a confessional, hones and raw and too close for comfort.

Alex had always made a point of making her confessions as thorough as possible. In her line of work, she figured it was best not to take any chances.

"Bobby…" Her voice faltered. "You deserve a woman who can give you picket fences and forevers. We both know that can never be me. So this is...this is what I can give you."

Goren nodded.

"I wonder sometimes," she continued. "I wonder what it would be like if I'd met you straight out of the academy, like I did Joe. Or what if the bullet Joe took a few years back had hit an inch to the left and I'd come to major case a widow. But I can't…I'm not that person, Bobby."

"You're a good woman, Flaherty." His words were so quiet she had to strain to hear them. "You're an honest woman. That's why I…" His voice trailed off and he shrugged uncomfortably.

They sat in silence for a few moments, before getting up from the table simultaneously. Neither wanted to stay in their corner booth confessional any longer; each afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing and causing irreparable damage to the other.

-

* * *

- 

The rest of their day was spent in relative silence. Their cases were, for the most part, wrapped. They spent their time reviewing paperwork and chasing down loose ends. When the day was over, they put their coats on and rode down the elevator together.

It was Bobby who broke the tacit agreement to silence.

"Flaherty." His voice was low. "If things had gone differently, you would have turned out differently, and I don't know if I would still love you if you were a different person than the person I know now. I respect your marriage, I really do. That..." he paused, exhaling a breath that was heavy with bitterness. "That's why I always call you...Flaherty. Even though you call me Bobby, I can't call you Alex. But I'm in love with you, and I …I thought...I just wanted you...to know."

She smiled at him, a small sad smile. "I know, Bobby. If I let myself, I would love you back."

Bobby blinked slowly in a way that communicated understanding to his partner. "Okay, "he said as the elevator doors opened and he stepped out into the parking garage. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, Bobby. Tomorrow"

Be kind. Review.


	5. Strike, Dear Mistress

Strike, Dear Mistress

-

-

-

Bobby sees it coming almost before Alex does.

They are exiting the courthouse and Carver has his hand on the small of her back, guiding her forward. This is not atypical behavior on Carver's part. In fact, it was something he did for every woman. It was the polite, gentlemanly thing to do. But usually his gentlemanly gesture only included hovering in the air above the woman's back. There was never any actual contact. With Eames, it was different.

Instead of being poised just over the small of her back, his hand is settled snugly in the little nook, where her pelvis met her spine.

Eames feels it, even though her thick winter coat and shrugs off the possibilities the light touch implies along with Bobby's gaze.

-

* * *

- 

It happens twice more in the course of the next three weeks before Eames realizes it's no accident.

-

* * *

- 

They are at a diner having lunch away from the prying eyes and ears of the squad room when Bobby brings it up.

"So…Carver." His voice is casually low, mellifluous and smooth and heavy with meaning.

Alex sees his jealousy, and fights the sudden urge to slap him. Her fingers curl around her mug of hot coffee and she resents the tone of possession that colored his voice.

This man, who loves her and loves her not, has no right to question anything in her life, she thinks.

"Don't be an ass, Goren." Her voice is sharp, curt. Bobby raises one quizzical eyebrow, smiles, and goes back to his pastrami on rye.

Eames sees the look of contentment wash over his face, the look of a man who is secure in his victory and sees that he takes her words as a sign that he has nothing to fear from Carver rather than the warning they really are. Suddenly, Eames finds that she has something to prove.

She takes in his smug look of satisfaction and decides on a course of action.

-

* * *

-

The next time Carver touches her, it is as he slips passed her in the strategy room, his hand brushing lightly down her arm. They both know there is plenty of room for him to maneuver freely without coming into physical contact with her. Eames looks up at him, cocks her head to one side, and smiles a smile that is more quirk of the lips than smile. She brushes her fingers lightly over his. Carver pauses almost imperceptibly, gives an equally imperceptible nod and moves on. When Eames turns back to Bobby, she feels his gaze burn right through her. Try as she might, she cannot shrug it off.

Through the strategy room window, Eames sees Carver watching her from across the room and wonders when the inevitable call will come.


	6. Such a Long Time Now

**VI. Such a Long Time Now**

"Eames, how many more of those are you planning on having?

They were at a bar. It was a Saturday night, they had the weekend off, and after the last few tension-fraught months, Bobby had wanted to go out for a good time and reconnect with his partner. He hadn't though that Alex would show up wearing five inch heels and a skirt that made his mouth go dry.

"As many as it takes to make my feet go numb, darling. These particular shoes happen to be a five drink minimum, so I'm planning on having at least two more after this one." Alex smiled up at him over the rim of her martini glass.

"Okay, you've had enough." Reaching over, Bobby plucked the glass half-full of annoyingly pink liquid straight out of Alex's hand.

"What? No! Give that back, Bobby. I _need_ that cosmopolitan!"

"Eames, you just called me 'darling.' That's the international symbol for 'I've had too much to drink.'"

"But I'm not drunk yet." She protested.

Goren looked at his partner, He cocked to one side, one eyebrow raised and pointed and screaming 'you don't really think I'm going to fall for that one, now do you?'

Alex pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Don't you give me that look, Mister. You were the one that wanted a fun night out, and for me that includes shoes that make me miserable and enough alcohol to dull the pain, now give me back my damn Cosmo!"

"Why are you even wearing those shoes if you know they're going to make your feet hurt? You're way too sensible for that."

"That's why I'm wearing these shoes. They're not sensible. It's the first thing they teach you in 'Femininity 101,' Bobby. No one ever wears sensible shoes if they're looking to dance and have a good time. The higher the heel is, the higher the hemline and the blood alcohol level must be."

"For a woman who is usually so sensible, Eames, you are not making any sense at all, right now."

"Okay first you take my drink and then you insult me. You sure do know how to treat a lady, Goren."

Bobby looked bewildered at the sudden turn of events. "I said you were sensible. That's not an insult."

Eames gave him a look that made Bobby feel all of five years old again before patiently explaining, "No woman wants to be thought of as sensible all the time, Bobby. Especially not while wearing five inch heels and a short skirt."

"I swear this is the last time I take you out. I spend too much time trying to baby-sit you."

Eames chuckled a deep throaty chuckle that had Bobby swallowing nervously. "No one wears shoes like this to be babysat, Goren." She took advantage of Bobby's shock to reach over and pluck the cherry out of her drink. Enjoying the way he trailed her movement with his eyes. "And believe me," she said, putting the cherry between her lips. She bit down, causing Bobby to flinch unconsciously. "I do not need babysitting."

With that, Eames slid off her barstool and headed towards the dance floor. Goren swallowed hard and watched her go then decided he needed another drink. Badly.

-

* * *

- 

"Cab, Eames. We need to get a Cab.

"Yes, Bobby, I know that. I realize we have to get a cab. I'm not that drunk."

He shot her a pointed glare and she rolled her eyes at him. Enunciating each word very crisply, she shot back, "All right. I'm willing to concede that I am, in fact, drunk, but I will not cop to being shit-faced." She paused for a moment, her head cocked and a look of serious concentration on her face. "Tipsy at the utmost," she concluded regally. "Buzzed, even. But not wasted."

"It wasn't for lack of trying, Eames. Now, hold still so I can flag us a cab."

"But I want to keep dancing."

"You can't right now, Eames. It's two o'clock. The bar is closed. We can dance at your place when we get there."

She grabbed his arm and looked him straight in the eye. "You promise?"

"Yes."

Clutching his arm tighter she repeated, "Promise?"

"Yes, Eames."

"Pinkie swear." She said, holding out her right pinkie solemnly.

Without realizing why he agreed to pinkie swear in the middle of a New York street, and feeling rather childish for doing it, Bobby Goren linked pinkies with his partner and solemnly pinkie-swore to dance with her in her apartment. He rather prided himself on being able to do so with a straight face.

Once that business was concluded, Alex smiled brightly at him and said, "Remember now, you promised." After this declaration, she promptly did an about face, put her fingers to her mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. Soon, a taxi was waiting for them on the curb and Alex was doing happy little dances around her partner and humming the theme song from _Valley of the Dolls_.

Eventually she stopped humming and when she did, Bobby found himself missing the sound of her voice.

-

* * *

- 

They reached her apartment with a minimum of fuss, and after kicking off her heels; Alex grabbed Bobby's hand and demanded "Dance. Now"

"Okay, but I'm not dancing with you the way you danced back at the bar."

"Are you criticizing my dance moves, Goren?"

"Eames, what you were doing was not dancing so much as it was public indecency."

She threw her head back and laughed. "Chalk it up to pent-up frustrations being let loose. I saw more action on that dance floor tonight than I have in the last six months."

Goren placed her hand on his shoulder and held the other gently. "I assume you know how to waltz."

Eames looked up at him, puzzled. "Waltz? Yeah, sure. I haven't done it in a while, but sure. Everyone can waltz, right?"

"But not everyone can waltz correctly, Eames." He corrected her. "There's a difference between the two." He began to move slowly, and Eames matched him, step for step. "The waltz is about two bodies moving in synch. It's seductive, but it's romantic too. Most people forget that. That's the difference between your method of dancing and mine. Mine is much more subtle"

"Yeah, but mine is much more satisfying."

"No contest there. I nearly had a coronary just watching you."

Eames smiled slyly. "So you were watching?"

Goren looked down at her, barefoot and beautiful in his arms, and felt the remains of the four scotch on the rocks he had consumed at the bar coursing through his veins. 'Why the hell not?' he decided, and took a shaky breath. "Eames, God himself couldn't keep me from watching you."

She widened her smile and Bobby found himself unable to tear away from the sight of it.

"Good," she said, and then he kissed her.

"Hey, look at that." She remarked when at last they surfaced for air. At his questioning glance, she continued, "The world didn't end."

He smiled and pulled her closer. "No, I guess it didn't."

* * *

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	7. The Ballad of Bobby and Alex

VII: The Ballad of Bobby and Alex

-

Woman open the door  
Don't let it sting  
I want to breathe that fire again  
Oh, I don't mind if you don't mind.  
Cause I don't shine if you don't shine  
Before you go  
Tell me what you find  
When you read my mind

-_Read My Mind_, the Killers

-

Yet each man kills the thing he loves,  
By each let this be heard,  
Some do it with a bitter look,  
Some with a flattering word,  
The coward does it with a kiss,  
The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,  
And some when they are old;  
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,  
Some with the hands of Gold:  
The kindest use a knife, because  
The dead so soon grow cold.

Some love too little, some too long,  
Some sell, and others buy;  
Some do the deed with many tears,  
And some without a sigh:  
For each man kills the thing he loves,  
Yet each man does not die.

-Oscar Wilde, _The Ballad of Reading Gaol_

-

-

-

It started small.

Things of that nature tended to start small. The occasional drink after work turned into coffee on weekends turned into long dinners turned into a relationship neither of them knew was started until one day they looked up and realized they were already in the middle of it.

After that, it was simply a matter of schematics.

Bobby handled that by cocking his head in the direction of her bedroom and quirking his eyebrows at Eames. She had quirked hers right back before taking his hand and leading him down the hallway.

Afterwards, Bobby was mildly astounded to realize he loved Alex very deeply, with a passion that bordered on obsession. Alex was neither surprised nor alarmed when she discovered this. She had always known Bobby was not a man to do things by halves. Still, when he told her he would never leave her she laughed and told him that he should know better than to promise anyone forevers.

-

* * *

- 

They had six months of steady, low-key bliss -punctuated occasionally with Bobby's need to show his fierce devotion- before things started to fall apart.

-

* * *

- 

Bobby knew what was coming before the though had even crossed Eames mind.

He saw it in the way her lips developed the habit of thinning briefly with annoyance more and more every time they spoke, in the way her arms didn't hold him quite as tight as they used to.

One of the downsides of being so fucking insightful all the time was being able to see people's intentions and actions even before they did.

All of Bobby's ex-girlfriends had complained about his fear of intimacy, his inability to connect with them on a deeper level. Now he was the one who was being shut out.

It's not as though he didn't try. Eames was the only person in the world that he felt comfortable with. She knew him too well for him to try to hide anything from her anyway, he figured. With Eames, he could just be Bobby without any hang-ups.

It was Alex who closed herself off. She kept herself distant and, after months of trying, Goren wasn't sure if he wanted to keep trying.

Bobby figured it was karmic retribution and decided that he was singularly not amused.

-

* * *

- 

Alex knew she was very thoroughly and systematically kicking Bobby out of her life. Occasionally Bobby would look at her with eyes that said too many things at once (_iloveyouneedyoupleasedon'tdothis)_ and Eames would turn her head and tell herself it didn't matter.

-

* * *

- 

Things continued in this way for another six months. Bobby would pound at the door, and Eames would board up every entrance.

They continued in this way until the day Bobby got home from work and found her sitting at the kitchen table. There was a bag at her feet containing the few possessions of hers that had remained at his apartment. The key to his apartment, the one he had given her in case of emergencies, lay on the table in front of her.

"Don't." His voice was quiet and low in the stillness of the apartment. Alex was afraid to look up, to look into his eyes because she could hear them screaming from across the room.

"Bobby, there's nothing left. It's for the best." Her eyes remained on the table. Her voice was steady, monotone and emotionless. If her hands didn't shake it was only because she had them clasped so tightly in her lap that they never had a chance to give her away. Bobby had never seen her so close to snapping and wondered what would happen if he gave her a push.

"Don't give me that shit, Eames. If there's nothing left it's not for want of trying on my part. It's because you made sure there wouldn't be, and you never even had the decency to tell me why."

"It's for the best," She reiterated, only this time, Bobby could hear a hint of desperation in her tone.

"I don't buy that, not for one second. And deep down, you don't buy it either."

Alex snapped back, "I'm not one of your suspects, Goren. Don't think you can bully a confession out of me."

"Now, why would I think that you would have anything to confess? Or is that the product of your guilty mind, Eames."

"Stop it." Her voice was tight. Bobby could see the tears welling in her eyes. A part of him wanted to stop, to dry her tears and take her to bed and promise her everything was going to be all right. But he's tried that already and it clearly hadn't worked. Clearly a new tactic was needed. And he needed to know. He knew he'd never be able to let her go, not really, unless he knew.

"I want to know, Alex. I deserve to know! Why should you get to end us without at least letting me know why? It's only fair that I should know!"

"Stop it, Bobby!" She was crying now, hot tears running down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking from the force of the sobs.

"I can't, God damn it! I Can't! I love you to much to not try everything I can!"

"Including breaking me down, Bobby? That's a hell of a way to convince me to stay!"

Goren found himself raising his voice at Alex, something he had never before done, and promised himself he would never do. A part of him hated her a little for pushing him to that point. "And what have you been doing lately, huh? You have been tearing me down for months, Alex. Fucking _months_! It is my turn! You owe me this! And you are not leaving here until you explain it to me!"

Her voice was shaky, quiet. "I can't do this."

"Tough fucking shit, Alex! You don't have a choice! I deserve at least this much!"

"No, I mean I can't do this! I don't know how. I don't know how to love you and stay whole."

Goren laughed bitterly. "In case you hadn't noticed, you're not doing a great job of that anyway."

"You don't get it, do you? I am fucking _terrified_ by this! I'm terrified because every time you jump into a crazy fucking hostage situation with no back-up and no vest, I see Joe! I see Joe and I see that bullet in his chest and I get scared out of my fucking mind!"

Bobby was thunderstruck. He stared at Alex sitting at the table, her hands clasped tightly and tears flowing freely from her eyes.

"He died, Bobby. He was my husband and I loved him. I loved him more than anything in the world and it didn't matter that I did. He died anyway, and when he did I thought I would die too. "

The silence lay between them, thick and heavy, and Bobby did not know how to breach it.

When she spoke again, Eames' voice was low and rough. "I can't do that again, Bobby. Not with you. It would kill me if it happened to you. At least this way I can chose. If I leave you, you can't be taken from me and maybe it won't hurt so bad."

"Is it working?" Bobby asked.

Eames looked up at him helplessly.

"Is it working, Alex?" he repeated. "Is this whole 'leaving you before you can leave me' thing working for you? Cause I gotta tell you, it's fucking killing me, babe."

Eames shook her head slowly. Goren approached her cautiously, and knelt in front of her. "Please, Eames. If you leave me, I'm dead anyway." His voice went hoarse. He lowered his head into her lap and when she cradled it in her hands, it felt like a benediction.


	8. She's Come Undone

IIX. She's Come Undone 

-

-

Dreams are made winding through her hair.

-_Spiders_, System of a Down,

-

-

-

-

Wheeler doesn't know why, but she can not stop staring at Eames.

She will catch a glimpse of her sometimes and will watch her out of the very corner of her eyes. She never actually dares to turn her head, but she will look out of her peripheral until bright bolts of pain lance through her eyes.

Logan does not notice, or pretends not to. Considering the looks, the half-started sentences, Wheeler suspects it is the latter. Still, she is grateful to him when he closes his mouth and shakes his head. Sometimes she wonders what it is that he wants to tell her. She looks at him, at the slightly creased forehead and worried mouth and wonders what words of wisdom will leave his lips. But he clams up and gives her a look and does not so much as make a crack at her. Somehow this unsettles her more than anything he could ever say.

Goren notices. There is no way of avoiding those fucking eyebrows and the overly-tilted head, or his stares that are much longer and much more piercing than Logan's. Goren definitely notices. But then, Wheeler notes sourly, the man notices _everything._ Especially when it comes to Eames. Wheeler never lets herself wonder what it is he would tell her if he were to speak to her.

Sometimes she thinks Eames notices. Scratch that. Sometimes she _knows_ Eames notices.

Wheeler will be looking at her out of the corner of her eye, and she will catch that certain tilting of Eames' head, that catlike smile -sharp as a knife- and she will just _know_ that Eames knows, and that tilt of the head, that smile was mean for her.

Wheeler's eyes will always snap forward on these occasions, and her freckles will be lost momentarily under a fiery blush. She feels, for a moment, that Eames is teasing her, that she is waiting for the right moment to pounce and tear her to shreds. If Logan notices her sudden shiver, he ignores it and keep his eyes on his paperwork.

-

* * *

- 

For the first few months in Major Case, Megan Wheeler struggles. She struggles to get her bearings. She struggles to find her footing, and she struggles to decode Mike Logan. She struggles to strike a balance between her irascible partner and the captain who has always been her mentor. She struggles to understand the strange, antipodal partnership between the tall, towering Detective Goren and the bantam-weight Detective Eames.

When she first started, it was not Eames she watched. It was the pair of them together. Their partnership was a strange amalgam of Goren's quixotic, often melodramatic ways and Eames' cool adroitness, her absolute deftness in any situation. The dichotomy of their relationship fascinated her. After a while, it was mostly just Eames.

-

* * *

- 

Goren is a bear, she thinks one day after having settled into Major Case comfortably. When she looks at Goren, Wheeler thinks of bears. He is a huge, burly, lumbering bear of a man and he reminds Wheeler of the dancing bears she used to see in the circus when she was a kid. Wheeler is of the opinion that this particular bear is too smart to stay caged for very long, and will one day turn on his handlers. Not even Eames can keep him in line forever.

But if Goren is a bear, then Logan is a wolf. Everything, down to his smooth, loping strides, reminds her of wolves. Wheeler sees him manhandling some suspect, his craggy features drawn into a feral grin, and she swears she can hear him growling. With Logan, it is a complete possibility.

When she looks at Eames, Wheeler does not see anything at all. Or she sees too much. Eames is not confined to just one image in Wheeler's mind. Eames is a Rothko painting, full of layer upon subtle layer of color and depth that you miss unless you look closely. She is a sharp, segmental, precise Mondrian, all lines and angles and patches of brightness. Eames is lush, feline grace and sharp movements and smiles like knives that make Wheeler want to scream.

When Wheeler believes she is close to having Eames pegged, she is surprised by something Eames does. The knowing smiles, the witty comments that could mean nothing but probably mean more. Eames will do this and suddenly Wheeler is back at square one and wondering just what the hell happened.

It unsettles her that she cannot place Eames. Wheeler categorizes people. It is what she does. She watches everyone, stares and stares until she understands them enough to feel comfortable with them. Wheeler thinks this is why she cannot stop staring at Eames. She knows she can watch Eames from here to eternity and will never get any closer to figuring her out.

It is the ambiguity that she finds fascinating, Wheeler decides. It is the intimation, the suggestion, the indelible possibility that Eames might be noticing her back. It is never anything overt, and it is the incertitude, the ambiguity that drives her out of her mind. Sometimes she is certain that Eames does it on purpose, that the other woman enjoys picking her apart, fraying her edges little by little, and building up for a much larger event.

Wheeler is not sure that she can stand the pressure.

-

* * *

- 

They go out for drinks after work on her last day at Major Case, after all the paperwork is done and Mike has gone off to drown his sorrow over his dear departed in a glass of good whiskey.

'The boys are off doing their thing,' Eames says, her lips are quirked up in a half smile that has Wheeler entertaining soft, dirty thoughts. 'Let's go do ours.'

-

* * *

- 

It feels like letting out a breath that has been held in for far too long, Wheeler decides after ingesting two gin and tonics with extra lime, and precious little else. She does not know if Eames is spurred by her the absence of Goren to act as chaperone, or Wheeler's own impending departure, however impermanent it may be. Whatever it is, she does not question it, and when her glass is empty, she signals the bartender for another.

-

* * *

- 

She slams against the wall of the apartment and Wheeler can not decide if they have had too many drinks or not enough, but then Eames' hand goes up the back of her shirt and her breath is hot against her ear, and Wheeler is unable to think coherent thoughts.

Nails rake down her back and Wheeler arches up, letting out a moan.

_'This is quite possibly wrong,'_ she thinks dimly. _'This is not right.'_

But then she feels Eames' hands on her again and Wheeler lets out a deep, shuddering sigh. She gives in and allows Alexandra Eames to pull her apart.


	9. Ipso Facto

IX. Ipso Facto

Cuantas cosas quedaron prendidas  
hasta dentro del fondo de mi alma  
cuantas luces dejaste encendidas  
yo no se como voy a apagarlas.

How many things were left alive  
In the very depths of my soul  
How many lights you left burning!  
I don't know how I will extinguish them all

-_Que Te Vaya Bonito_, Los Aterciopelados 

Amárrame y muérdeme  
llévate contigo mis heridas  
murmúrame y ládrame  
y grita hasta que ya no escuche nada  
solo ve como me quedo aquí esperando que no estés  
en espera de que vuelvas  
y tal vez vuelvas por mi

Tie me up, Bite me  
Take my wounds with you when you go  
Murmur to me, Bark at me  
Scream until I can't hear anything  
But see how I wait here until you are gone  
In the hope that you will return  
And return for me

-_Aviéntame_, Café Tacuba 

Alexandra Eames was not used to being thrown off balance. She always knew what was going on; she was always at the ready. She was prepared to handle anything and anyone. It's what she prided herself on. There wasn't much that could shake her. So when Bobby Goren walked back into her life after an absence of five years, the shock of it was like a slap to the face.

She hadn't seen him since her departure from major case five years ago. She'd been promoted to Sergeant, and transferred to Homicide. Her promotion had effectively killed the fragile relationship she and Bobby managed to build between them. They had lost track of each other. They were working on different cases, had different priorities, and different wavelengths. They now operated on different circuits.

Bobby was still playing the role of mad scientist/boy genius/Sherlock Holmes/oddball detective and Eames was now part of the Man's system. The system that Bobby was always trying to buck off. Eames was now the man, or at least an agent of the man. Bobby didn't do so well with the man. He and the man had a history, and most of it was unpleasant. It's not that Bobby was so insecure that he felt her promotion was a threat. God, no. He was happy for her, and damn proud of what she had accomplished. It's just that Eames could no long commiserate with him when he felt like damning the man. It was her job now to keep the likes of him in line. As much as she loved Bobby, and as much as she knew what he was feeling, she had a duty, an obligation to the badge she wore and the chevrons on her sleeve. There was an uneasy tension there that had not existed before and Bobby was chafing under it. He couldn't stand the fact that he and Eames were no longer on the same page. So the communication gradually ceased. Bobby cared about Eames, and he understood her obligations, but in the end it was easier to drift apart than to try to adjust to the changes. Bobby had never really dealt with change very well.

Eames wasn't surprised when she and Bobby lost touch. Disappointed, yes. Infinitely so. But not surprised. She knew that the fragile, intangible something between them would not survive any drastic upheaval. So Alex was left with the tantalizing knowledge, that incontrovertible belief that they could have been good together damned good. Great, even. And now he was gone and they were no longer a _they_. It was now Bobby and Alex, two separate people. _GorenandEames_ no longer existed. Alex mourned the death of that electrifying possibility.

Eventually things went back to normal. Eames immersed herself in her new duties and tried not to ask herself what Bobby would think about things that happened in her squad room. She started dating again. Sometimes she dated tall, strong men with dark hair. Those relationships ended fairly quickly. Other times she dated leaner men, who were close to her own height. Those relationships ended even quicker.

More time passed and Eames realized she no longer asked herself what Bobby would think about things at all. She was fine and wonderful and content and she wasn't thinking of him at all and suddenly, there he was, calling her name in the middle of a used book store.

She had been enjoying a rare Saturday off with a friend she hadn't seen in a while. They'd gone to lunch, and then gone shopping on a whim; Alex decided to try a bookstore Bobby had once told her about. She and her friend had been poring over old books, laughing and joking among themselves when Alex heard somebody call her name.

Alex knew. Even before her head snapped up and she whirled around to face him she knew who it was, and the first though that entered into her head was '_Please God, don't let it hurt this time._'

"Bobby! It's so good to see you!" She smiled and gave him a small hug. Bobby smiled his shy little boy smile and Alex tried very hard not to notice.

"I'm glad I decided to stop in today." He said. "We haven't seen each other in forever."

Alex winced a bit at the reminder of how much time had passed since they had spoken, and thought back to a time when they spent the majority of their time together. "It has been a while. Too long, really."

They tapered off into an awkward silence. Each catalogued the changes that had occurred in each other since the last time they had met.

"You shaved. On a weekend." Alex noticed, her voice faintly accusatory.

"What? Oh, yeah." Bobby rubbed his clean-shaven check self-consciously. "I'm a straight-laced cop nowadays." At Alex's raised eyebrows, he amended, "Mostly. Sort of. I'm just trying it out, you know, to see where it takes me." He trailed off, waving a hand in the air dismissively.

Alex had secretly loved his ever-present stubble. There had been many times she had been tempted to caress Bobby's cheek, just to feel the roughness of it against the palm of her hand. She had wondered what it would feel like against her skin if they ever kissed.

"You look good," Bobby said in an almost wistful tone, and Alex was suddenly grateful for the uncharacteristic impulse that made her put on a nice blouse and try on some new make-up. And she did look good. Being a sergeant meant she had slightly more time off. She was well-rested, and had lost the circles under her eyes that had plagued her during her stint at major case. She was still toned and fit, but without the leanness that came with spending too many days with nothing in her system but coffee and adrenaline

They stood for a few more minutes, making small talk and catching up before Alex's friend pulled her away. As she turned to go, Bobby caught her sleeve.

"Listen," He said. "You wanna…I don't know…grab a cup of coffee sometime? I mean, it's been a long time…and I…I miss you, you know? I just think it would be…um, you know. It would be nice if we could…if we could just…reconnect."

Alex blinked at him for a moment before responding. "Yeah. Yes. Definitely."

Bobby smiled at her then. It was the same charming little boy smile he had always had ready for her back at Major Case. It had blinded her then. It always had. He said his goodbye, and waved at her as he made his way out the door. Alex noted that he hadn't bothered to purchase any books.

Shaking that thought from her head, Alex waved back to Bobby, paid for her books and went home.

* * *

_Be Kind, Review_


	10. Zeitgeist

X. Zietgeist

Alex doesn't tell anyone, but there are days when she can feel everything falling apart.

Everyone always thought he'd be the one to crack first. I mean, it's already almost happened once or twice already. It's only a matter of time, really. Goren's a nutcase. Eventually the nut will crack and the rest will be history.

No one expected her to be the one to cave.

Eames is indomitable. Eames is a freaking rock. So when Eames started cracking no one noticed, except maybe Goren. And even if he did, he's not about to start talking.

Goren does see it, and there are times when Eames hates it for him. His scrutiny, his piece by piece examination of her grates on her nerves sometimes. Other times, she is too tired to care.

It started showing in small ways. The ever-present dark circles under her eyes got deeper. She drank more coffee than usual. She was prone to snapping at the DA a bit more often, behavior that was usually reserved for Goren alone.

She wakes up some nights, breathing hard and throat aching with the force of the screams she doesn't dare let out, even now. On those nights, her arms and wrists feel sore, bruised with phantom pains that linger for days.

Other times she wakes with a start, her breasts heavy and her arms wrapped around her belly and finds herself longing for the child she had never expected to miss.

Some nights she dreams of the blood-splattered she keeps in her safe, underneath her passport and birth certificate and other important documents. She dreams of the badge and, even though she knows it wasn't her fault and the way he died had nothing to do with her, she dreams of Joe. She sees him shot and she watches the blood begin to permeate the blue shirt he wore; the one she bought for him because there was a sale at Macy's one day. She dreams of that shirt and she watches it soak up the blood, thread by thread until it's covered and Joe is cold and gone.

She wakes feeling transparent, paper-thin. On days like this she makes a concentrated effort not to let Bobby see how much her hands shake.

* * *

- 

The last straw came on a Thursday. It figured. Joe had died on a Thursday. Her nephew had been born on one. She's been kidnapped and tortured on one, too. Eames had never really gotten the hang of Thursdays.

-

* * *

- 

They're interviewing a suspect when Eames reaches her breaking point. He's an uncooperative son-of-a bitch in for kidnapping and murder charges. He's the kind of suspect you just know is guilty and lawyers up before you can get anything good out of him. As it is, he's about to skate. The sick bastard had kidnapped his ex-girlfriend's child after she kicked him out of her apartment. It had gone pear-shaped and they'd found the boy, barely alive next to the dead body of his mother.

Goren and Eames were doing their best good cop/bad cop routine trying to get him to crack under the pressure. So far all they'd gotten was an explanation of how his fingerprints had gotten inside the apartment and several offers to get to know Eames intimately.

"Come on, Billy-boy." Eames coaxes. Her voice is hard and sharp. She's been at this for half an hour, making little headway and dodging Billy's increasingly suggestive barbs. "We've got your prints all over the scene. It's only a matter of time before we bust this case wide open."

Billy Darwin gives an exaggerated sigh before explaining in a condescending tone. "I lived there for three months, and that bitch Cherie never cleaned the place. Of course my prints are going be there, sweetheart."

"Cherie may not have been the world's best housekeeper, but she sure had the good sense to kick your sorry ass to the curb." Eames sneers at him. "We've got it on record that there have been five domestic disturbance calls within the last month, and Cherie's boss is willing to testify about how she would come in to work with bruises on her face and arms on a regular basis. Bruises you put there, Billy. You're going down for this."

"Baby, if someone in this room goes down, it ain't going to be me. Now, why don't you get down on your knees and smile like a doughnut for me?"

In a lightning quick move, Eames delivers a hard right to Billy-boy's face.

In quick succession, Billy-Boy's lawyer starts ranting about police brutality, Billy-boy himself rants about his broken nose, and Goren is herding a ranting Eames towards the door. On the other side of the glass window, Captain Ross rants about departmental policy and administrative headaches.

Once out of the interrogation room, Eames grabs her coat and walks out the door, ignoring the DA's blustering and Ross' sharp orders. Bobby catches up with her before she has even reached the elevators.

"I'm not going back." Her voice is tight, and Bobby can hear the barely-restrained anger in her tone.

"I'm not asking you to." His voice is neutral, cool.

"Don't give me your interrogation room bullshit, Bobby." Alex snaps at him. "Do not talk to me like I'm a fucking God damn perp you're trying to negotiate with, or I swear to _God_ I will fucking pop you one and you and Billy-boy in there can go to trial with matching black eyes."

In the silence that follows, the elevator doors parts open like the Red Sea, and they step inside.

"Sooooo," Bobby says, stretching the word like so much taffy. "Shots?"

Alex Nods curtly and when the elevator opens, she surprises him by handing him the keys.

-

* * *

- 

They're five shots of tequila in before she even thinks about slowing down. They do not talk. All his questions are deflected by a sharp yes or no answer or an order for another shot.

At the end of the evening, he practically has to carry her to bed.

-

* * *

- 

Ross gives her a suspension, effective immediately. She remains standing during the sharply delivered lecture. When it ends, she replies 'Yes, sir' and walks out the door.

-

* * *

- 

Two days into her suspension and Goren's knocking on her door. Alex is mildly surprised he hadn't come sooner.

No tequila this time, but rum. She mixes it with soda and her Rum and Cokes have so little coke in them that the liquid in her glass looks like whiskey. They're three drinks in when she attacks him on the couch. They're at five before she leads him to the bedroom.

-

* * *

- 

They fuck. There is no other name for what happens between them. The sex is not gentle. He tries to make it so at first, but Eames demands more from him. Her hips grind hard against his and her teeth leave marks on his neck. He can taste the sticky-sweetness of the coke, and the underlying tang of rum on her mouth. She pushes him harder, faster, rougher, until he gives in and pins her to the mattress. She struggles under him and they end up making love for the first time as if they were trying to kill each other. They claw and bite. Goren holds back a moan when Eames rakes her nails down his back. He thrusts harder into her, encouraged by the rough sobs she emits. She digs her heels into the small of his back and this time he can't help but let the low, guttural noise escape the back of his throat. When she comes, it sounds like sobbing. He will be bruised in the morning, but so will she.

In the morning, he leaves. He gathers his things quietly, and says goodbye without meeting her eyes. Once he's gone she goes to the bathroom and inspects the damage. There's a love-mark on her neck the size of Cleveland, she notes. There are bruises on her inner thighs, and it hurts to move in certain ways. She wonders when the scratches she put on Bobby's back will heal.

-

* * *

- 

It's an affirmation, she decides after the third night. She needs him to feel alive and all that shit. She's doing this as a means to deal with the trauma and the stress and whatever other psychobabble rationalization she looked up on the internet, she thinks. Then Bobby's tongue does something wonderful between her legs and she digs her fingers into his scalp hard and stops thinking altogether.

-

* * *

- 

It's Wednesday night, the last night off before she's due back at work when Bobby shows up on her doorstep with pizza and a bottle of good tequila. They eat in silence and when they are done they start playing Never Have I Ever with the tequila.

It's Eames idea, really. Bobby makes a comment about how he's never actually worked up the nerve to punch a suspect, and Eames grins widely.

"I'll drink to that," she says and takes a swig straight from the bottle. She winces as the clear liquid burns its way down her esophagus and warms her stomach. "I'll tell you something else. I can't say that I've never played strip poker and ended up outside, bare-ass naked and jumping behind a tree because there was a car coming down the road."

She takes another swig and Bobby looks at her with wide eyes, nonplussed by the sudden change of topic. Eames shrugs and shoots him another grin before sliding the tequila over. "It was college. It was a Saturday night and we had gin and a deck of cards. What else were we supposed to do?"

Bobby quirks his eyebrows. "You have a point there, Eames. It sounds like a perfectly rational thing to do. While we're on the subject of embarrassing stories, I can't say I've never almost suffocated a girl accidentally while having sex." He takes a swig of his own, and puts the bottle back on the table. At Eames' raised eyebrow, he colors slightly and fidgets in his seat. "We were sneaking around and she had a tendency to get…enthusiastic…while in the...throes of passion. I knew we would get caught if she got any louder, so I put a pillow over her mouth to muffle the sound."

Eames laughs so hard Bobby swears he could see a tear escape her eye. They continue like this for a good twenty minutes before they lapse into silence.

"We have to talk about this, you know." Goren says quietly, eyeing the bottle that sits between them. It's over two-thirds empty.

Eames sighs and rubs her forehead. "I know, Bobby. I just…I …I don't…I…can we put it off till tomorrow?" She finished plaintively.

"Eames, we have to be back at work tomorrow."

"I know! I just…I'm not ready just yet."

"Eames-"

"Please, Bobby." She cuts in. Her eyes are shining and he gives in.

-

* * *

- 

They sleep together that night and for the first time they do not leave marks on each other's skin.

-

* * *

- 

Thursday morning, and they dress for work and ride in together. It had to be a Thursday, Eames thinks dimly as she sips her coffee on her way out the door. They do not speak. As they approach One PP, Eames stops Goren with a hand to the arm.

"Bobby?" Her voice is suddenly unsure. Bobby looks at her and quirks his head, saying nothing.

"Thank you for…everything." She looks down at her hands. "And for trusting me. And keeping me sane. I know I could have…screwed things up between us and the fact that you…trusted me enough to let me…it means a lot, Bobby."

Bobby swallows tightly and nods. They keep walking and just before they reach the doors Bobby says conversationally, "You know I'm in love with you, don't you?"

"Of course," Eames snorts. "Like coming over to my place five times in the last week and letting me maul you wasn't enough of a hint."

Goren grins and holds the door open for her. "Just making sure." He says and walks in behind her.

-

* * *

- 

They make it to the squad room, and Eames finds herself pausing in the hallway, assaulted by panic. She can't do this, she thinks. She's not ready, not yet.

"You ok?" Bobby asks, putting a gentle hand on her arm. She can hear the concern in his voice.

She nods tightly, and closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath and thinks of Jo Gage and all the things the woman took from her. She thinks of Joe and all the things he took with him when he left. She thinks of little Nathan and the things that he took that she honestly hadn't expected to miss. She thinks of the Job, and of Ross and the demands and sacrifices they entail. Then she thinks of Bobby and everything he gives her.

Taking another deep breath, Alex Eames opens her eyes and starts again.

* * *

_Soundtrack to this bit is _All These Things That I've Done_, by The Killers;_ Goodnight Lovers_, by Depeche Mode; and _Martha_, by Tom Waits. Also, a Quote from the_ Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_, by Douglas Adams. the bit about Thursdays. Poor, poor Arthur Dent_

_I made some changes because i started writing in mthe middle of my Government class, and i realized i wasn't quite done with this one yet. I'm done now, though. and that's what counts_

_This __will probably be the last chapter for the forseeable future. I've written all the stories i've had bouncing in my head, and i can honestly say that at this point i've said all i've wanted to say. I'm not saying i won't change my mind, cause i probably will. I am nothing if not a fickle, fickle creature. Maybe the new episodes will give me inspiration. maybe i'll be watching some re-runs and see something i didn't see before. who knows. But for know, this is it. Thanks to you guys who supported the story and reviewed. It means the world. _

_. Be Kind, Review._


	11. The Spirit of the Times

The Spirit of the Times: A Law and Order:Criminal Intent Ghost Story

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**"What do the dead do, Uncle? Do they eat, hear music, go a-hunting, be merry as we that live?"**

**"No, coz. They sleep."**

**"Lord, Lord that I were dead. I have not slept these three nights."**

**-John Webster, _The White Devil_**

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Being dead was not as difficult as Alexandra Eames thought it would be.

It surprised her. She'd always thought that being dead would be a lot harder. Or at least more heart-wrenching and emotional and whatnot. Instead, she found herself to be mildly inquisitive over being one of the Faithful Departed. Her days were spent in contemplations and remember-when's, thinking on all she'd done with the glasses of hindsight. She walked alongside Bobby and pretended to be his muse when he worked his cases. _He shouldn't have to be alone_, she reasoned.

After all, it wasn't like she had anything else to do.

Her death had been a fairly painless one. She vaguely remembered feeling a brief, intense flash of it before everything had gone to black, and then to the grey haziness that heralded her entrance into the afterlife.

A gun had gone off and it had hit something important, something vitally important. She'd had time to clutch the wound and exclaim the words "Oh, Fuck! Bobby, I…" before lapsing into unconsciousness, and then death. When she awoke, she remembered being upset about being shot while wearing her new blouse. It was silk, and the perfect shade of blue and now it had a giant, bloody hole in it. _Not that it matters_, she thought, _what with being dead and all_.

She wondered what Bobby had done about that. She rather suspected he hadn't taken it at all well.

Alex Eames had come back to existence (in the purely spiritual sense) just in time to attend her own funeral. It had been surprisingly well attended. The flowers had been lovely and the bagpipes had been played rather well, she thought. She could have done without seeing her family and Bobby suffering as much as they clearly were, but she supposed it couldn't be helped. Part of her was happy that everyone thought so highly of her. It made her feel loved. _It would have warmed my heart_, she though, _if only she'd still had one._

She made a mental note to stop being so literal. Eames had never heard of sarcastic ghost-thingies before, and she really should stop taking her chances. What if she made a wise-crack and an angel scooped her off to purgatory, or hell or something? _Is being irreverent during your afterlife a hell worthy trespass these days?_ She wondered. _Best not take that particular chance._

The first few days she had wandered about aimlessly, trying to do whatever it was that ghosts were supposed to do. She hung around her family, her friends, tried to speak to them and write things in the bathroom mirror and rearrange the silverware when they weren't looking. She'd tried banging on the wall and moaning a lot. She quickly discovered that she couldn't actually touch anything, not even if she really tried, and that the couldn't hear her anyway. So, she figured all the ghost stories she'd ever heard were a bunch of crap and moved on to do other things.

Once she figured out the whole floating-through-the-air thing, Alex walked to Europe. She'd always wanted to visit, and it really hadn't taken much time to walk across the Atlantic Ocean at all. And it's not like she had anything else to do. After Europe, she'd come home. Something had drawn her back. So she'd come home, floated about the city and pondered the meaning of Life After Death, and looked back on her Before-Death Life and reminisced about her time on earth among the living. She'd been doing that a lot lately.

In the spirit of trying new things she'd always wanted to try, she'd satisfied a long-held wish to spit off the top of the Empire State building. _(If a ghost spits off the top of a building, and no one can see she's done it, will she still be punished for it?) _While she was up there she, thought about an old Carey Grant movie, and wondered if she really was as close as she would ever get to heaven. Much soul-searching and one attempt at prayer _(Are you there, God? It's me, Alex.) _Alex realized that she was waiting. For what exactly she wasn't sure, but she had a sinking suspicion it had to do with Bobby Goren.

_It figures_, she though indulgently. _Even in death I can't shake him._

As the days went by, she trailed after him more and more. She couldn't help it. Things had been left so unfinished between them. She had gone so suddenly. _That,_ though Alex. _Is what I regret. We never had time._

She couldn't say what it was they hadn't had the time for, but Alex suspected it was something big. Something grand and wonderful and life-changing in all the best, still-alive-to-live-your-life, kind of ways.

So now she follows him, and she waits for the end to come. She isn't afraid. In fact, she rather suspects it will be her big, Happy Ending. _Motherfucking literally_, she thinks. Alex knows she'll have to move on sometime, but for now there's Bobby to look after and the little voice in the back of her head that whispered _"Remember when…"

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_Wow. I have a penchant for getting Alex shot. I should work on that._

_Technically, this has the same title as the last chapter, but I'm using it in a completely different context here. It's a pun, you see. _

_So I was painting my nails today. (La Paz-Itively Hot. It's a really bright, Barbie-Skank hot pink. I'm not really a pink person, but I'm in that kind of mood.)_

_Anyway, whatever. I was painting my nails, and the line, "Being dead wasn't all that hard" popped into my head, along with the last line. I said "Holy Shit!", put down the nail polish mid-right hand, and wrote you guys a Halloween present. Think of this as a bonus gift. for what, i don't know. just go with it._

_Happy Halloween! Please don't kill me. _

_Be kind, Review._


	12. Breaking the Girl

**XI. Breaking the Girl**

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_Daddy, you can lie back now._

_There's a stake in your fat black heart_

_And the villagers never liked you._

_They are dancing and stamping on you.__They always knew it was you._

_Daddy, daddy, you bastard, _

_I'm through._

-Sylvia Plath

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_Just how deep do you believe?_

_Will you bite the hand that feeds?_

_Will you chew until it bleeds?_

_Can you get up off your knees?_

_Are you brave enough to see?_

_Do you want to change it?_

-Nine Inch Nails

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_But my heart, it don't beat_

_It don't beat the way it used to_

_And my eyes, they don't see you no more_

_And my lips, they don't kiss_

_They don't kiss the way they used to_

_And my eyes don't recognize you no more..._

_For reasons unknown_

_For reasons unknown_

-The Killers

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It is a Thursday in the Major Case bullpen, and Eames does not tell anyone, but there are times when she wishes she had not withdrawn The Letter.

It is not often that this occurs, but she wishes it just enough for her to take note of it and wonder about what might have been. Alex is aware of how well she and Goren work together, and she knows that he would be lost without her, but it does not keep her from wondering what she would be like without him. There are days when their partnership feels like a leash and collar and she wonders what it would have been like if she had broken free of him before he had time to grow dependent on her. Eames knows she missed the opportunity to escape and now the collar has grown too tight and she is choking on all his expectations.

She wants to hate him for that, for making her his anchor, his touchstone. She wants to look at him and feel nothing but a deep, cold anger, seething and pure and reaching down to her bones. She wants to be able to leave him behind and never look back and be all the better for it. Instead she looks at him and feels exhaustion settle over her like a mantle. It invades her pores and threads its way down her throat like smoke. He leaves her tired, so _fucking_ tired and she never finds the energy to hate him at all. More and more she looks at him and felt nothing at all.

It's an interminable Thursday, and Bobby's fingers are tapping insistently on his desk, the way they do whenever he engrosses himself in anything too deeply. Alex fights the sudden, violent urge to slam a book into his hand. She has a vision filled with the sharp snap of bone, the gasp of shock and pain escaping Bobby's lips. She pictures digits swelling with blood, bruised joints, damaged ligaments. Eames shakes her head slightly, as if clearing sleep from her mind, and concentrates once more on the paperwork in front of her. Goren does not notice. Eames wonders if he is selectively blind or just genuinely out of tune with the finer points of her psyche. She fights the urge to glance at the clock again, knowing the minutes will not have passed quickly enough for her satisfaction.

It has not always been this way. Once upon a time their partnership had been steady as a rock. Once upon a time, time had flown by while she worked, engrossed as she was in her partnership. But things change and so has Alex. Maybe too much, she thinks sometimes, and they are no longer as steady as they were. She has changed and Bobby has become more damaged. Sometimes Eames thinks all she ever does is fix him.

Alex is not stupid. She is aware of the gossip that permeates the Major Case bullpen about her relationship with her partner. It galls her to know people think she is foolish enough to involve herself with her partner in general and Goren in specific. She backs Bobby because that is what partners do. They support each other. They show a united front to the brass and they back each other up. She supports Bobby because she understands the sacred trust between partners. But because she is a woman, and because Bobby is Bobby and so many women have already fallen for his 'aw, shucks' charm routine, everyone assumes that she has fallen for it too. But no one gives Alex credit for knowing better.

Eames does not love Bobby. Eames could never love Bobby. She knows this, and she wishes for a way to make Bobby know it too. She feels his sidelong glances. She sees the way his hands flutter up as if to touch her, the gestures aborted almost before they begin. She hears the words he never speaks or stumbles over at the end of the day, when the office is cleared of people and he looks at her with wide eyes and tongue heavy with things unsaid. He thinks he loves her, but she knows better. It is not romance. It is not love. It is just another piece of Bobby that she will have to fix. Alex is very tired of having to fix things.

Familiarity with Goren does not breed romance. Eames knows Bobby too well, and it breeds within her a certain cold indifference towards her partner.

Thursday still, and Eames feels Bobby's heavy gaze on her shoulders and she fights the sharp, sudden panic that claws its way up her throat. Eames thins her lips and bites the inside of her check hard enough to draw blood. These days, she is looking forward to a change.

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_Influences for this chapter were _"For Reasons Unknown"_ by The Killers and Nine Inch Nails' _"The Hand That Feeds"._ (Incidentally, that was the first name I came up with for this chapter) Also, _"Daddy"_ by Sylvia Plath and _"Breaking the Girl"_ by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, which is, I felt, and an appropriate way to close out the series._

_Be kind, Review._

_Here, at the end of things, I feel the urge to explain myself._

_I got this whole idea on a road trip so San Antonio. Easter weekend. I remember this because it snowed. No fucking snow all winter and then BLAMMO! Snow in the middle of spring. God, I hate Texas. _

_Anyway, we're leaving Dallas, and we're on an overpass just south of downtown and I'm listening to some Red Hot Chili Peppers and that one line just stuck in my head. Breaking the girl played over and over until just outside Waco. _

_Memorable Texas Landmark, that. If you ever have a chance to go, don't. _

_It was the one road trip I hadn't taken my sketchbook on, seeing as we were driving through some of the bleakest fucking land on God's green earth. God, I hate Texas. I grabbed a napkin and a pen from the glove compartment and wrote the first few sentences of what would eventually become chapter three. On the back I wrote general ideas for the project as a whole. _

_I had read some really great "Five Things" stories. They're the ones that say "Five things that never happened to so-and-so" or something similar_. "Five"_ by Hiding_duh, _"Five Things"_ by pagination, _"The Stars in Their Courses_" by Missparker 85 _"Stars in a Private Movie" _by Sparkfanfic. Look them up. They are really great stuff, even if you don't consider yourself to be part of those fandoms. Anyway, a bunch of them caught my eye all at once and I read them, and when I was done I wanted to write something similar, something as good as that. _

_And I wanted to do something different that the General Eames and Bobby fare. Not that I mind it. In fact, I'm all about it. But there are a lot of other people who already do that, and better. I wanted to do something else. From day one, I wanted to do an anti-Goren one. Well, not so much anti-Goren, but anti-Goren_ love_. Something that, to me, seemed more in line with Eames' character. _

_I wanted to do a lot of other things, but I always just knew that I had that one story somewhere in me, and when it had been told, I could put the pen down and walk away. And I've done that, and it feels like a good time to call it a day. _

_The Plan was to break the mold. Hence, _Breaking the Girl_. I wanted to take Eames with no preconceived notions and put her in a situation with this and that and see what happened. Something Different. Something _Else_. _

_No lovering all over Bobby or agonizing over lovering over Bobby, and before you ask, yes, I am aware that I wrote chapters in which Eames does exactly that. I like to fool myself into thinking that I did it in a different way. _

Breaking the Girl_ can also be applied to the emotional and physical abuse I seem to put Eames through. I mean, I've shot her thrice, and put her through a pretty severe mental breakdown. Not to mention affairs with both Carver and Wheeler._

_God, that chapter was fun. It's one of my favorites._

_I've done the job I set out to do. I wrote Dying!Eames, Dead!Eames, and ReallyDead!Eames. I wrote Angry!Eames, (twice) Drunk!Eames, Emo!Eames (also twice) Pregnant!Eames, and, my personal favorite for the sheer hell and bloody satisfaction of it, Lesbian!Eames. I wrote Not-revolving-around-Bobby-Goren-and-his-Quirky-whims!Eames. _

_I've done all that and now it's time to go. This is me mopping up the floors, putting the chairs on the tables, turning out the lights, and locking up as I leave._

Breaking the Girl_ was fun. It was extremely satisfying to write. I'm glad I did it and I have no regrets, except for my terrible lack of proofreading. Really, I'm bad at it. Horribly, horribly bad. It's a flaw of mine, I know. I fully intend on going back and fixing all of that. Later. Not now. Knowing me, probably not ever. Except for that, I've got no regrets and I can leave this behind and feel nothing but satisfaction at a job done as well as my admittedly imperfect abilities allow. _

_So this is it. _

_Thanks for everything, you guys. It means the world._


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